Cold Beer and a Good Mule

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

It's been a long time since my last post and it isn't that I haven't thought of posting something it's that so many of my previous posts were so depressing I felt it was better not to spread the shit around. Yes, you're welcome.

Today I want to talk about boobs. You know. The big, flabby things that wobble around on the chests of most women. Until two years ago I never had boobs. Well, I had them but they were small and discreet things that minded their own business. When I was a teenager it was a bad thing. As an adult I learned to love the fact I was terrifically flat chested. I shopped in the children's department for bras until I was 40 years old. Oh yes. I stood in awesome self-righteousness when I saw a former cheerleader whose tits hung to the ground while seven or eight crotch parasites (term stolen from 'mommy wants vodka') ran around. I may have once envied those voluptuous meat bags hanging out there but NO MORE! Nope. I felt privileged at having enough mammary to feed my children but not so much as to dangle to my waist.

In the beginning when those first breast buds began to protrude my mother proclaimed that I MUST have a bra. Understand that way back in the 60's all those bras were stiff as concrete and marvelled in circular stitching so as to come to a perfect point. My sisters and I referred to them as 'pencil sharpener bras'. Honestly, I have never had a pencil so sharply pointed but that is beside the point. (Hehe... pun!) My stepsister used to get her bras a couple of cup sizes too big and I would make her totally crazy by punching a dent in her boobs when she wasn't looking. The funny part was that she never knew until for some reason she looked down. Hilarity ensued. Anyway, the aforementioned bras hurt the hell out of my ribs. It was like I was being held in a vice grip and I couldn't breathe. After a couple of days wearing a bra my ribs would start turning blue. The more I wore them the worse I hurt. So, I stopped wearing them. It wasn't a women's liberation thing. I never set fire to any of my underwear. I simply tucked the offensive underwear into the back of a drawer and tried my best to forget about them. Oh the shit I took over that! You would think I had set fire to a National Forest. I had less than AA size boobs but without a bra it seems everyone notices. Seriously, doesn't the world have something better to do?????

Years passed and when the occasion arose I wore a bra, white shirts, office Christmas parties and the like. It was all well and good until two years ago when I started to gain weight. Suddenly I have real boobs. Not the tiny things I had before but real, honest to goodness, floppy fat things wobbling around like two 'possums fucking boobs. I hate it. I have started wearing a bra when I have to go out in public because well, HELLO! I am totally irritated by my fat, floppy things laying across more fat floppy things and with this heat it's kinda nasty feeling so I've worn a bra just to keep that at bay. It's pain and bruising vs. fat sweaty stuff. Sheesh. How to choose?

I am pushing 60 years old and for the first time in my life I have boobs. What kind of fucking joke is that? I can't have boobs way back when I could have used them? Oh NOOOOO! Give them to me now when all they do is get in the fucking way. Merciful God my ass.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

This week has been so awful I don't even know where to begin. Maybe I should start with the vicious murder of my laying hens by some unknown creature. I found their feathers covering the yard when I went to feed them on Monday morning. Hubby decided the chickens should be let out during the day which was fine with me but I asked him to please close the door to the coop when he fed in the evenings so the chickens would be safe overnight. Guess what... For some reason closing the door to the coop was just too much trouble. I closed it whenever I was outside but I am normally in the house cooking supper so I couldn't always get to it.

Not having fresh eggs is the least of it. One of the hens was named Loverly. She has been here for a couple of years and she was sweet as honey. She would run to meet me every time I was outside and followed me around clucking as if we were carrying on a conversation. She ate treats from my hand and pecked at my ankles if I tried to ignore her. Yes, I loved that hen and it breaks my heart to think she died in terror while being torn to pieces. I keep getting mental images of that so sleeping has been kind of hard to do.

To add insult to injury, Hubby went to the Verizon store to get a new battery for my mom's phone. Easy task, right? We've had the same phones for four years. The numbers were rubbing off mine but it worked just fine. It was a simple phone. You know... the kind that makes calls, sends text messages and wakes me up in the morning. All I ever needed in a phone was right there in my hand. I have dropped that phone on rocks while riding my mule and it was none the worse for it. The goats have stepped on it and kicked it under the milk stand. It kept right on working. I loved that phone. Not much survives my clumsiness but that phone did it with ease. And then Hubby comes in with a Droid. WTF??? Folks, I have no fucking idea what to do with that thing.

Hubby likes to brag to people he got something fancy for me when in reality he buys what he wants and then justifies it by pawning it off on me. I spent 90 minutes with a nice young man at the Verizon store trying to learn how to work that damn machine. The very first thing I said as I entered the building was "Honey, the next time a big, inbred fucktard comes in here, points at something and says 'Oooh, shiney' please consider the people at home trying to put food on the table before you let the aforementioned fucktard buy anything'. The nice young man, Aaron, listened as I explained to him that a widget was not a good thing when I was growing up and that I had no idea what a wiki was but evidently they weren't worth a shit because it was all over the news that they leaked. He said "Pizza Hut" to the phone and a map came up. I very gently explained to Aaron that the Pizza Hut was a mile up the road and had been there for years. The only places I ever go is WalMart, Food Lion and my milking room. I've been going to Food Lion for 20 years without a map and I'm reasonably certain I can go another 20 without getting lost. Even the goats can find the milkroom without a map. I haven't been to a restaurant since I visited my children last June so that app is useless to me. Should I get to go back to San Francisco, my son has an Iphone and he can find the restaurants. My computer is four feet to the right of my favorite chair so I don't need a Droid to read my email. The TV is across the living room from that same chair. I have DirecTV (thanks to my nephew) and Netflix (thanks to my son). I have basic knowledge of the remote and can set the DVR to record my favorite shows. I live in a pissant Biblethumper town in BFE. Why on earth do I need a Droid? If I lived near civilization and had something resembling a life it would be different but...??? When I left Aaron, I still couldn't make a phone call. Less than 24 hours later as I struggled for ten minutes trying to type a text message I succeeded in dropping the phone and smashing it. Hubby got another one that evening but since Aaron has gone on vacation this phone isn't set up like the first one and if I couldn't work that one, I certainly can't make this one do anything.

I have spent the last five days sobbing until I'm sick at my stomach and my eyes are swollen shut. Hubby thinks it's hilarious to watch me try to figure something out while he and his family laugh their asses off. You would think I'd be used to being the butt of the family jokes by now but in reality it hurts just as much as it ever did. I went with my nephew to the Verizon store and we traded phones. He has the Droid and I've got something that's all scratched up and says "What are you looking at fucker" as a ringtone. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about that but I am pretty sure I need to find something that won't prompt Lily and Laney to ask what a fucker is. *sigh* And it's only the middle of the week...

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Help me, I'm sorry but I have to be the most depressing asshat in the universe. I don't mean to be. It just happens that way sometimes. I've even put off writing because I didn't want to come off so down and out. I'm not always that way but it seems to sound that way no matter what.

Also, I have someone hanging over me all the time so when I feel like writing I can't. Honestly, do you feel comfortable with someone leaning over you even if it's reading the newspaper? Nobody reads this shit so I want to be able to pour it out. I haven't yet been able to do that.

Yes, I'm still fat. I've lost five pounds but with a stomach so large I can't bend over without losing my breath so fucking what. I'm giving it a halfway honest effort so shut your whore mouth. I've thrown away all the skinny pants. With any luck that will be what makes me lose weight.

I haven't been riding with Sunday in a year. I miss her so much it hurts. I meet her at the fence each morning after I milk the goats and feed her treats. She's pasture crazy and I'm just nuts. Maybe someday we'll meet in the middle. I miss her so much. I wonder now if I can even get my big ass into the saddle.

My brilliant and beautiful daughter was home for a visit in January. She brought her intended, Maggie home with her. I love Maggie. She is a gorgeous person and she worships my daughter. Who could ask for anything better? I have worried for years about Sarah. She's never been one to chase skirts and she's had very few serious relationships. I can tell she loves Maggie and more importantly for me, Maggie loves Sarah. They are moving in together today. I wish I could be there to help them. Since I can't be there, I love you girls! Be well and be happy.

In my boring existence, I am entering the local chili cookoff. I know... duh. But, in my defense, I make a fairly good chili. We like it anyway. I thought if for no other reason it gets me out of the house and it would be fun. I'll let you know how that turns out.

Seriously... I need to get to this more often. It helps to put things on 'paper' so to speak. It would be easier if I didn't have to wait til the middle of the night to do it!

I need a vacation. Hmmmm.... Florida or Oklahoma? Who the hell am I fooling? Until some money starts coming in and there is someone other than me to milk the goats where the hell am I going?

Saturday, January 1, 2011

As much as I hate to sound like every other depressed asshole in the world, I really hate the holidays. I love Thanksgiving. Rather, I used to love Thanksgiving. My family would get together and we would cook an enormous meal that everyone ate with fantastic abandon. We haven't had a Thanksgiving dinner in a couple of years now. I don't know what happened but it makes me really sad.

Christmas on the other hand I totally despise. If I could somehow jump the calendar from Thanksgiving day to New Year's day I would. Once upon a time I had a magnificent collection of ornaments collected for my children. Due to yet another of my bad decisions the huge box of ornaments was taken from me and after that, it hardly seemed worth the effort. And yet I tried. I honestly tried. I made all new ornaments and decorated tree after tree. I smiled until I thought I would puke but I kept doing it. Finally the kids grew up and moved away. There has been only one tree in my living room since that day. It only happened because Luke and Sarah came home for Christmas at the same time. I can't tell you where any ornaments are if they exist at all.

I dread the holidays as if it were the black plague. I sit here alone every year and this year the worst thing was when on tv someone complained that sitting home alone meant nobody loves you. Yeah. Go ahead. Rub it in.

As if I don't feel bad enough about myself, I have gained another 10 pounds. I weigh more now than I ever have in my life. I am so uncomfortable. I'm paying attention to what I eat and cutting down on portions but I've never been one to eat enormous amounts of food to begin with so cutting down is rather hard. I'm beginning to wonder if I can live off a nightly spoonful of peanut butter.

I'm not looking forward to another year. Every year is worse than the one before. The highpoint of this year will be the day I get my walking cane because I can barely make it from point A to point B without something to hold onto. I can no longer raise my right arm over my head and my right hip will just barely hold me up. I have never been one to sit around doing nothing. This shit is getting the best of me and I can't seem to stop it. I'm trying to figure out how I can keep doing things because when I can't get up and go anymore, what's left?

Friday, December 24, 2010

I'm not a big fan of Christmas. I used to be. I loved it. The kids were little and Christmas morning was loads of fun. My family used to get together and cook an enormous meal. It was fantastic. These days I sit alone in front of the TV all day. Big whoop.

People complain about the cooking but I love roasting a turkey and making dressing from the recipe that has been handed down from so far back I don't know from whence it came. The stuff rocks. Putting the 'BIG' meal together has always been so much fun for me. I can never express how much I miss it. Worse yet, I'm the only person who knows how to make the dressing. When I die, it's gone. Believe me, I've tried to get someone else to learn how to make it but these days nobody seems to care. It hurts my heart that things have turned out this way.

My children live on the other side of the country. They called me on Thanksgiving. They were at their father's house, also in California. When I hung the phone up I cried. Not only did Greg have our children there but he also had the spouses at his house. I cried because I will never have that gathering happen to me. I cried because I miss them so much and I cried because I was so goddamn jealous of Greg.

To top off this joyous holiday, my neighbor died. He couldn't have been 40 yet. I'm sure the heart attack was somehow related to the drugs he enjoyed on a daily basis. I used to worry his small children would wander into the meth lab he had set up in the out building and blow us all up. He was a nice enough guy to chat with and I do feel sorry for his children (all 6 or 7 of them with I don't know how many women) because Christmas just isn't going to be the same for them. To top that off, instead of the screeching from next door I've become accustomed to (our houses are not close, the fights were LOUD and usually followed up in nine months with another kid) I am now forced to listen to three harpies fighting over where to bury the guy. Seriously, an ex-wife wants him buried in the plot next to hers. He's been married to the current wife for nearly 10 years and yet his ex-wife wants him buried next to her? Welcome to Screwtown. (shaking my head because I've been here all my life and this shit still flips me out) His mother has spaces all ready to go for herself and all her sons. I suppose she figured they all wanted to form a circle around Mom in the afterlife. Kinda weird if you ask me. But even all that isn't as weird as the widow planning to bury him - wait for it - next to the other dead husband. Yep, this is the second husband to die on her. Maybe she plans to plant herself between the two of them. Either way... c.r.e.e.p.y.

Another fine how do you do happened yesterday. Hubby has been laid off again. Oh boy. Starting off another year on unemployment. I had hoped to use the tax returns to build a porch because the steps to the trailer are caving in and my old ass is going to take a header very soon if it isn't repaired. Instead I will be taking the steer and the hog to slaughter so the freezers will be full of food. I suppose when the steps cave in I'll hang a rope so I can pull myself up and into the door.

I have always been poor and I've always been white, but I was never poor white trash until I got tangled up with this bunch. In my next life I plan to pay more attention to the choices I make.

Well, the clock just turned over and it's officially Christmas. I will still get up way before daylight and trudge out to start chores just as soon as I can see what I'm doing. I haven't had a holiday in years. Nobody ever says 'Hey, sleep late and I'll do the chores'. Not on Christmas or Mother's Day or my birthday... never. Maybe I'll go grocery shopping tomorrow. I've put it off as long as I can because I didn't want to fight my way through all the crazy people.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Have you heard of Amish Friendship Bread? It's been going around here for years and the stuff is fucking delicious. I have no idea whatsoever why the Amish are in any way connected to the making of this bread but that's what it says on the mass printed recipe I have so by gods it's Amish. Deal with it.

The day you bake this bread -which by the way makes two loaves so you had better be hungry - you will have enough starter left over to give to two friends and keep one for yourself. If you have plenty of friends then finding two every ten days to give starter to will be no problem. I have very few friends and none of them live close to me so it presents a problem. The two starters I'm supposed to give to friends is unceremoniously dumped into the slop bucket and fed to my hog. The starter I keep is put into a jar and wrapped with a dishcloth. I don't know why I wrap it. I wrap my kefir so why not wrap the bread starter? Besides, it looks much better to have jars wrapped with decorative dishcloths than to have them sitting around filled with fermenting god knows what. Don't you think?

After the jar with the starter is set back out of the way, the rest of the ingredients are added to the bowl and mixed to utmost perfection. Of course it's perfect. We are talking about me after all. Then it's poured perfectly evenly into loaf pans and baked for exactly one hour. OMG! Talk about making the house smell like heaven! Nothing like cinnamon to make life worth living.

Once the bread is out of the oven and placed on a rack to cool, the only thing left to do is sit quietly for an hour - 30 minutes - 20 minutes- 10 minutes - oh fucking go ahead and eat it already! Big pats of melty butter all over it! Absolutely to die for! If you want the recipe and some starter let me know. It's sinfully delicious.

By the way, that's my Potbelly Tess in the picture. When I'm sick of eating this stuff she happily finishes it off for me.

Friday, November 19, 2010

I used to love winter. Wait a minute, back up. Maybe I didn't so much 'love' winter as simply tolerate it better than I do now. Well, even that isn't the truest of statements. Let's say I liked winter more than brussel sprouts but less than double chocolate chip ice cream. Whew, now that that's established we can move on. Happy about that aren't you?

Way back in the day I worked for NCDOT and loved it. If a person could have a relationship with a dump truck then I had one with mine. Her name was Sapphire. She was a five speed, automatic PTO, sunshine yellow hunka hunka burning love. Nothing made me happier than cruising along in my dump truck hauling dirt and debris away from a worksite or loads of gravel to roads being repaired. Color me in heaven. The only thing better was when it snowed. I would tremble in ecstasy. My boss would shake his head and call me politically incorrect names. I didn't care. Bring on the snow. From 8:00 pm to 8:am I drove my route spreading salt and sand and pushing snow with glee. I loved watching it arc gracefully off the plow, sending inadequately mounted mailboxes sailing into the air. That was an extra special treat. Sometimes I would stop in the middle of the road and have a cigarette.

There was an all-night store near the interstate where I would stop for a cup of coffee every time I passed by. I used to joke that I didn't know if it was the caffeine that kept me awake or having to pee all the time. One winter there was a nice young man who would give my coffee to me every time I stopped. I always thanked him because I truly appreciated it. I could put away a lot of coffee on those nights. Like me that young man worked a second job (I delivered pizza on the weekends) and I saw him at another stop-and-shop during the summer months. It took me a while to recognize him because, well, I'd never seen him while I was totally conscious. Once I realized who he was I told him how grateful I was for all the coffee he had given me during the course of that particular winter when I had often worked weeks at a time without a day/night off. He smiled and told me he had been afraid to do otherwise. Gee, thanks dude.

Last year we had snowfall that broke all kinds of records. I would look out at all that snow with a heavy heart. I miss my snowplow. I miss cruising along in the middle of the night, just me and my truck and the late night disc jockeys. Yep, those were the days. Snow isn't nearly as much fun as it used to be.

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About Me

I am the mother of two grown children - one daughter in law and another in the making - whom I adore and couldn't be more proud of. I'm old and cranky and don't get out much. I thought maybe putting some of it down here would take a little pressure off me.